


Caged Birds and Feathered Wings

by sans serif aster (ubercharge)



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Emetophobia, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Meta, Poisoning, Spoilers, askmetachara
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-01-21
Packaged: 2018-05-15 07:12:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5776402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ubercharge/pseuds/sans%20serif%20aster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <b>[ contains spoilers for all three major endings. ]</b>
</p><p>i wanted to write something for my child. my 'version' of chara as i depict them on <a href="http://askmetachara.tumblr.com">askmetachara</a>.</p><p>ironically, despite having written over 5k words for them, this does not tell their story... but i learned a lot about them. it tells you who chara is.</p><p>this is like some kind of short rhapsody, a story about a dead child and their adoptive brother where things never turn out the way they seem. it is also a reminder that people, especially, are not quite the way they seem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caged Birds and Feathered Wings

[](http://kittekissen.tumblr.com/post/137733909155/caged-birds-feathered-wings)

It’s a beautiful day outside. Birds are singing, flowers are blooming... On days like these...

“How much higher? H-how much... ugh.”

The air is filled with laboured breathing and the patter of scuffed shoes against loose dirt that tumbles down, shoved aside. The foliage is dense; lush greenery smothers the mountain. Shafts of mid-day sunlight filter through the trees, and the ground is leaf-dappled. A perfect day for a rough terrain hike, or a nap in the shade.

A yelp cuts through the quiet, and dirty palms smack against the earth, feeling pebbles against delicate skin.

“Ow, ow, ow... How many times have I fallen down by now?”

But the trees thin near the mountain peak where the air, too, is thinner. Still they grip the earth and stretch up, out towards the sky. Reaching for life. The child doesn’t stop to catch their breath; they keep climbing. The sickening nausea has faded, and the sharp side cramps have become a dull background ache. Nothing overly difficult to deal with at this point.

The child is excited to walk the incline up to the mountain peak. They kick a rock forward, hard, and frown when they lose track of it. Up ahead, right in front of them now - a hole. For some reason, the mountain wields a gaping vestigial maw, yawning up into the face of the now-apprehensive child.

Oddly enough, the trees ringing the hole, roots poking out through sheer cliff drop, conceal the bottom with their shadows. The child looks up, perplexed, wondering if the sun could possibly shed some light on the situation at the bottom of the hole. Surely, there is a bottom?

The child rubs their arm - an anxious gesture - and remembers that they don’t care. They huff, laugh to themself a little to boost their confidence before they peek over the rim again. Somewhere below, the rock clatters to a halt.

The child leans over further, stepping closer to the edge, wanting a look at whatever the hole holds. Desperate hands rake over tree trunk as the child loses their balance. Too soon, they think. Their foot catches on a gnarled root and before they know it, they’re plummeting down. Their stomach flips, but they loosen their fears midair.

A smile stretches across their face.

Their surroundings grow dark in a shocking instant. All they can think before connecting with the cracked earth, sprouts of grass just barely poking through the ground, is that their job is not quite done yet. The burning will to live unfurls within them. Their screams of pain and cries for help echo out.

 

Where are the untold stories? The unsung tales? Where do we keep them all? Many have already succumbed to the sands of time, blown away into the wind until nary a scrap remains. Some are kept folded up neat, locked in a box with the key tossed aside. Others still echo in our thoughts, pulse along with our beating hearts. Every second of remembering bringing a fresh wave of pain, remorse, regret.

Asriel is not particularly talkative, being a rather shy individual. He is hiding behind a pillar when he greets the fallen human. His claws dig into the crumbling structure but find no purchase in the rock.

He tells the human he heard their cry for help and carefully introduces himself as who he is. Asriel Dreemurr, prince of the royal family that rules the Underground and its monster denizens. Why he was so open, the human never asked. Why he was so friendly, so willing to help, the human grew to understand.

It’s in his nature to be kind. As it should be in all, was what the human thought. They have been bitter about reality from the start.

When Asriel helped them up, they could not comprehend a thing. Who was this person? Not the Devil, as the human had been expecting. But... clearly not a human, either. Right? Or had they fallen so hard that they were hallucinating from the concussion? Maybe they were dead and the afterlife wasn’t anything like what they thought it was.

The castle is bright. Asriel calls for his parents to help him, and they tend to the human immediately. The human shies away as their shadows fall over them. Now there were even bigger talking goats to deal with... and they were worried. Worried about... them?

The human passes out.

 

The human did not mean to embody hope for a whole group of people whom they barely know, and yet at the same time, inexplicably know better than their own self.

The king’s speech ends with a flourish. It is received well. Adulation sweeps through the crowd, a myriad of unusual faces and limbs and scales and claw and fur and bone and... and hope. There is hope in all of the monsters in the crowd.

The human hardly understands themself at this point, hardly understands much at all. A new life has been constructed for them from the ground up, perhaps a bit literally, even. They have a family. A real family, the kind that they love and these people love them back just as much if not more so. And they have friends. Real friends, who talk about silly things and play games with them.

The human spends a lot of time in their joint room with Asriel. They are free to go outside of it, but the castle is where they feel the most comfortable in this odd world. The Underground is nothing like the Overworld, and yet, it is all too similar. A few words of ‘hello, how are you’, a wave of the hand, a shrug, and the human’s memories come flooding back in a torrential wave.

Life becomes something good. Every morning there is something new to look forward to. But the human does not forgive, and they do not forget. There is a deep-rooted grudge that lives within them, lying dormant, but only for the moment. One day, it will unfurl all at once. Like wings.

 

“I got so sick, Azzy,” the human said. They are smiling. The rosiness of their cheeks has finally faded into a sickly pale colour.

Asriel is crying. This is not an unfamiliar sight, but the human finds it heart-wrenching nonetheless. They do not voice their emotion and they never do.

“Chara...” Asriel whimpers, wiping his eyes on his green sweater sleeve.

The human’s name is Chara. To Asriel Dreemurr, it is Chara.

“Chara, I’m...” He pauses, gives a toothy smile and tries to laugh. It comes out as a hiccup. “I’m a little scared...”

The human - Chara, takes Asriel’s furry hands in both their own. So bony now, with veins visible through the translucent skin.

“Don’t be scared,” Chara says. “I know you can do it. Our plan... I’m depending on you, Azzy.”

Asriel gives a tiny nod.

“Did I tell you why I climbed Mount Ebott, Azzy?”

“No... You said it was a secret. Your secret. Something you didn’t want to talk about, and I said okay...”

“Sit down,” Chara says, nodding at the edge of their bed.

Asriel sits down on the edge of the bed, feeling hints of warmth from Chara’s hands. Nothing like the ferocious heat they used to carry. Nothing like the clamminess of them in the cold.

“I feel sick,” Chara muttered.

“D-don’t worry,” Asriel said, sniffling. “Mom’ll be back soon w-with-”

“Azzy,” Chara interrupted softly. “I know, but... That’s not important now. I want you to hear this, okay?”

Asriel gives another nod, more sure this time.

Chara rolls their sleeve up, and reveals a sight that Asriel had been shocked by the first time they explained it. Scars. Thin, neat, uniform. Little etchings of hate that their skin hasn’t quite let go of yet. The memories are cut deep.

But this time, taped onto their skin - a few seeds. Chara methodically removes them from the tape and, one by one, sticks them to Asriel’s sweater. They cling without adhesive.

“Um... Chara...?” Asriel asks.

Chara reclines back into bed, gives their adoptive brother a faint smile as they pull their sleeve back up.

“I’m just making sure. Now, do you have the last buttercups?”

Asriel’s face scrunches up, but he, too, tugs at his sleeve. He hands Chara the flowers that were tucked inside. They do not hesitate to stuff them in their mouth and down them. They don’t even flinch, and Asriel wonders why. The first time Chara ate the flowers, they were so bitter that they spat them out at first. Now, the awful taste doesn’t even elicit a reaction from them. They don’t look content now, but they look... peaceful, almost. Serene.

After Chara has some water, they turn to Asriel.

“I’ll be quick,” they say. It is a businesslike promise. “You’ve seen the scars on my wrists, thighs, and my back. Even if they went away, I wouldn’t forget my past.”

Chara takes Asriel’s hands again. Their stomach twists into knots. The poison is making them weak, but they need to talk.

“Humanity isn’t deserving of life.” Their smile is vacant now. “I know there are good people out there. I know there are great people out there, too. But then why... why would things turn out this way...?” Tears are trailing down their cheeks and their head is spinning, has been spinning for a while.

“It’s not fair, Azzy. People are so... ungrateful. They’re awful. I’ve seen so many bad things that happen every single day up in the surface, Azzy, that don’t happen here. Rarely, if ever. Because monsters are all so _kind._ I’m the child of the species that imprisoned you all in the underground. I _wanted_ to die, and yet...” They shook their head. “I was taken in. I was given a new home, a new family, a new life. Nobody even expected me to give my story. I had - still have - the power to kill everyone.”

Chara grips Asriel’s hands a little tighter, studying his white fur, the claws on his fingers. But their crying does not hamper their words.

“I’m so tired, Azzy. Monsters don’t deserve the fate they have. And humans don’t deserve everything that they have. Every single good thing that a human gets their hands on, they ruin it.”

A chill runs up Asriel’s spine. Chara makes eye contact. There is a sharp look in their eyes, sharp as a knife, yet it is clouded by illness and injury. Asriel knows that Chara’s anger is not a fire that can be tamed, much less snuffed out. He resists the instinctual urge to jerk his hands back.

“You’re such a beautiful person, Azzy. You’re going to do much better than I could. Ever. You’re just like Mom and Dad... They’re so, so proud of you. And I’m proud of you, too.”

“Chara...”

Asriel is hesitant to speak, because now they see hope in Chara’s eyes. There is anger, there is hatred, there is sadness. But there is also hope.

“I never liked it much, you know,” Chara says, blinking. “I never liked being the hope of the underground, as flattering as it is. It’s nothing against monsters... I just think that HOPE is one of the most useless emotions anyone could possibly feel.” They chuckle, shut their eyes. “I really do think that... I don’t know why I feel hopeful now.”

“Chara, I...”

“Remember the flowers, Azzy. Please. Mom and Dad already know. I think at this point, the entire underground knows. I want to see the golden flowers again, okay? That’s what you have to keep in mind.”

“I...”

“Hey.”

“W-what, Chara?” Asriel asks, starting to cry again.

The grey room is stifling. Asriel is watching his sibling die in his hands and there is nothing he can do to fix it. It is too late for objections, for alternate ideas. The only thing he can do for them is to carry out their last wish, and their carefully constructed plan.

“Chara! Asriel!”

Asriel jumps, Chara looks up to see Toriel at the door. She has a pained look on her face. A shadow hovers in the hallway.

“How are you feeling, my children?” Toriel asks.

“Sick, Mom. I feel sick,” Chara replies.

Toriel gives a nervous laugh, the worried kind.

“I...” she turns to the figure at the door, who has yet to speak. “Your father will be right here. We brought a... a friend. He might be able to help you, dear. Let me get your father. I’ll be right back.”

Chara nods. Their mouth and innards are in searing pain. But it is fading, like waves that come and go. They watch Toriel turn and rush out the door, followed by her companion whom she never introduced.

“I’m going to miss her,” Chara murmurs.

Asriel is starting to panic.

“I can’t breathe, Asriel.”

“C-Chara?” Asriel asks.

“My head hurts. Everything hurts so much. My stomach-”

They start to convulse, and nearly fling themself off their bed to position themself over the well-placed bucket on the floor. There is a loud splash mixed with horrible, horrible noises coming out of Chara’s throat.

“Azzy, listen to me now,” Chara whispers harshly, yanking a tissue out the box and wiping their mouth. “Can you pick me up? It’s time to go.”

Asriel tosses the blanket aside and lifts Chara, ignoring the searing smell of vomit. A few days ago, he would’ve had serious difficulty. He is amazed at how much lighter they are now. How much weaker their body is. With a grunt of effort, he picks his sibling up and, as fast as his paws can take him with cargo close to his own body weight, heads out of their room and down into the basement.

A few times, Chara has to walk on their own to give Asriel the chance to catch his breath. Neither party complains.

In the last corridor, lit up golden, Toriel is running past, followed by Asgore and someone in a black coat. Asriel and Chara are hidden behind a pillar. The monster in a black coat pauses briefly at their pillar, but reconsiders the action and continues after the king and queen.

It is not until they have all left that Chara and Asriel exhale.

“Too close,” Chara sighs.

Asriel picks them up again and they head into the throne room. Past it, a little more - the barrier. The shifting thing emits an odd light.

Chara is shaking.

“I have just one more thing to tell you. The most important thing I’ll ever tell you,” they manage.

Asriel leans in. He has more words than can be said. These are Chara’s last moments and he knows it’s pointless to argue now. All he can do is listen.

“I love you, Asriel. I love you so much. Please don’t forget that. No matter what happens.”

“Chara... Chara! Chara, please! No, no, no,” Asriel sobs, his body all of a sudden wracked with torrential grief. “Chara, wake up, wake up, I don’t wanna do this anymore... Chara, please... P-please... I...”

Chara’s limp body does not respond. A heartbeat - and Asriel wipes his eyes.

Something bright red pulses in their chest, something that stirs at Asriel’s very SOUL. He was prepared for this, but nothing could properly explain the feeling of actually... being near a human SOUL. He hugs Chara’s body tightly and doesn’t let go as he feels scalding heat tear at him from inside out.

 

Nobody stands a chance. Not a single human could fight against a monster with a human SOUL in their body.

Asriel feels it stirring within him. Every step is absolute agony. Had Chara always felt like this? Was the buttercup poisoning somehow carried through their SOUL, too? The anger that Asriel feels now, not even his own, is debilitating.

He knows he is not the one moving. In his arms - longer now - he carries Chara’s body. He is vaguely aware of its weight, but also aware that it means nothing to him.

He is taller and bigger. Stronger. Most interesting to him are the horns that now sprout out of his head.

His SOUL hums as Chara, the one in control, sets their own body down on the golden flowers. Seeds stick to their clothing and onto Asriel.

When the humans notice them, their yelling is ugly. And Asriel can feel Chara’s anger increase tenfold at their voices. He feels the anger flood into him. He isn’t sure whether it’s him or Chara who clicks his claws to spark them. He isn’t sure whether it’s him or Chara who bares his fangs and snarls in defiance.

But it _is_ him who picks Chara’s body up again, careful as he holds them in one arm. His other hand is occupied with fire, bright orange flames that snake up and flicker, reflecting his inner turmoil.

When the villagers attack, one of the two SOULs is ready. And the other is not.

 

There are quite a few seeds clinging to Asriel’s clothing as he stumbles back through the barrier. He is wounded. He is shedding dust.

By the time his parents are there, with the third person who was meant to help Chara, it is too late.

Toriel cradles her dying son in her arms. Asgore is weeping openly over Chara’s cold body, and the third person does not speak.

Chara’s SOUL pulses with agitation. It makes Asriel’s body stir, makes his clawed fingers twitch weakly. Asriel’s SOUL is losing its light. He can’t hold on, not even with the additional power of a human SOUL. He took too much damage. His body is radiating with pain and sorrow and grief because Chara is dead and he is dying.

And the world... oh, the world is so beautiful. He can discern Toriel’s form as she holds him, tears falling from her eyes and pleas tumbling out of her mouth. He can feel warmth. There is light, gentle and golden and glimmering, and it is so, so, so beautiful.

Asgore takes his wife’s hand. They hold onto each other because their world is shifting and everything is going to change very soon.

Asriel shuts his eyes. He sees a smile, and he smiles, too. A tiny bit, because he can no longer control his body. He feels small again, but he feels safe in the arms of his mother. Her erratic heartbeat offers him a funny kind of familiarity.

There is golden light, and there is bright red, and there is a smile and an outstretched hand and Asriel is dying and Asriel misses his adoptive sibling and Asriel misses Chara so, so much that it makes him hurt from the inside out.

Toriel and Asgore’s companion can offer no words in their time of grief. There is too much lingering unsaid in the air, but unsaid it must remain.

Asriel’s body turns to dust.

 

_“I love you, Asriel. I love you so much. Please don’t forget that. No matter what happens.”_

...

_“I love you, too, Chara. So, so, so much!_

 

Death is quiet. She is not peaceful, but she is quiet.

 

She takes the body with her when she leaves. The coffin in the basement of a killer is no place for her child’s corpse to rest. Before the war against humans, she’d seen dead people before. Not many, but some. Enough for her never to be able to forget the look of one.

Toriel avoids looking at Chara as she sets them down at the entrance to the Ruins.

She uses a simple gardening shovel with its paint chipped off to scoop the dirt. She does not have a bigger shovel. It is a long and arduous process to dig a big and deep enough hole to fit a child’s body.

When she is done digging and has to pick the body up again to place it in the hole, she makes the mistake of looking at the face.

Nightmares haunt her for ages after and do not let up for a long time.

 

One day, another human falls into the underground. Their SOUL is teal and they are very patient. They have short, pale blond hair like sun rays. They are short. They wear a jacket and a skirt. In their messy hair is a red ribbon, and clutched in one hand is a plastic toy knife. There are several bandages covering bumps and scrapes over their body.

Toriel finds them. Toriel greets them. Toriel leads them through the Ruins. Toriel brings them back to her house.

They leave.

They miss their new mother.

They die.

 

Another human falls into the underground. They are braver than the first and have an orange SOUL. They wear pink gloves with an eye design on the back, and around their neck is a bandanna with abs drawn on it. Their hair is cropped close to their head, and they wear a practical pair of track pants.

Toriel finds them. Toriel greets them. Toriel leads them through the Ruins. Toriel brings them back to her house.

They leave.

They feel cold air, cold everywhere around them.

They die.

 

The next human is one with a blue SOUL. They always try to do the right thing no matter what. Their honour is their character. They are a ballerina, wearing an old tutu and lovely ballet slippers. They have frizzy hair pulled into a neat bun.

Toriel finds them. Toriel greets them. Toriel leads them through the Ruins. Toriel brings them back to her house.

They leave.

They twirl among seagrass and talking flowers and glowing cyan water.

They die.

 

A human with a purple SOUL falls down the mountain. They do not care overcoming difficult circumstances or situations; they push through their struggles. They carry with them a torn notebook and wear a pair of glasses with scuffed lenses. They have long, dark hair that is constantly in tangles. Like the first human, they wear a skirt. They have a more serious facial expression, though. Perhaps a bit... judgmental. They believe in karma.

Toriel finds them. Toriel greets them. Toriel leads them through the Ruins. Toriel brings them back to her house.

They leave.

They pretend that looking up at Waterfall’s caverns is the same as stargazing.

They die.

 

The fifth human child to fall down has a green SOUL. They are a kind person, a generous person who always has something to give. Their hands and wrists hold a myriad of burn marks. They are tall. They wear a pink apron and always carry with them their burnt frying pan.

Toriel finds them. Toriel greets them. Toriel leads them through the Ruins. Toriel brings them back to her house.

They leave.

They face stifling heat and marvel at bubbling lava.

They die.

 

Yet another human falls down Mt. Ebott. Their SOUL is yellow and they have a strong sense of justice. They believe that what is wrong must be righted and they are fair about their ways. They wear their hair in a double braid and they have freckles on their face. They are stocky. They wear a vest and boots with spurs, gloves to keep gunpowder off their hands from their six shooter. They love their cowboy hat. And they are said to be remarkably lucky.

Toriel finds them. Toriel greets them. Toriel leads them through the Ruins. Toriel brings them back to her house.

They leave.

They run out of bullets.

They die.

 

It has been many years.

 

An eighth human drops into the underground. They have a red SOUL. There is a pink bandage covering up a scratch on their face, and they are gripping a stick like their life depends on it. They have brown hair and their sweater has long sleeves. They are filled with DETERMINATION.

Chara has taken a liking to them.

So has Asriel.

Toriel finds them. Toriel greets them. Toriel leads them through the Ruins. Toriel brings them back to her house.

They leave.

 

Many feel a certain unease when it comes to premature endings, or endings that close things up prior to a story providing complete closure.

It’s funny how many people also enjoy stories that have well-timed endings and stories that do provide complete closure. After all, the story never really ends. Something, even the tiniest of things, is enough to let it continue.

Someone is always going to go and do one more thing after the ending.

Perhaps even several things.

Are these actions always beneficial?

 

There’s a story I don’t like to tell, but it’s important to learn about the past. After all, the past helps us understand ourselves and who we are.

Once upon a time, I had a brother named Asriel. He was my best friend and I loved him very much. I still do. I still love him very much. Asriel’s parents - Toriel and Asgore - adopted me. They raised me equal to their son, the prince of their world. They all treated me well and they loved me and they were good to me.

Once upon a time, I told Asriel about myself. I told him about my past. I told him about the scars on my wrists and thighs and back and the two on the bridge of my nose and a few on my neck. There are scars all over my body. I told him about these scars, and I told him how they connect with my life. And with that, I told him why I hate humanity. About how I will never stop hating humanity. About how I think humanity is irredeemable and not worth SAVING, no matter what.

Asriel’s response, after the initial tears and horror from my past ghosts and pain still latching to me in the form of constant visual reminders, was to give me a flower. I don’t remember what kind; not the shape, not the size, not the colour. To me then, and even now, it is still just a flower. Because it doesn’t matter what kind it was. He gave me a flower. He had nothing more to say, and I didn’t ask nor expect him to say anything.

Once upon a time, a human climbed a mountain. This human was very sad and angry and hating of the whole world. This human saw the light and the good things that humanity had to offer but did not find them light and good enough to offset the bad. This human climbed a mountain to disappear because they wanted to die. This human ended up finding life where they expected to find death.

But they got their wish in the end.

Once upon a time, a human climbed a mountain. This human was not so angry, and more sad than angry. Maybe a tiny bit curious, just because. This human could not see the light and the good things that humanity had to offer. They felt like those things were there, but those things had not revealed themselves to the human and thus the human found it hard to believe in humanity’s light and goodness. This human climbed a mountain to disappear because they wanted their suffering to end. This human ended up finding life where they expected to find death.

Once upon a time, somebody helped a human child traverse through the underground and bring life, death, perhaps both to its citizens.

With life, there is joy. Tears, but the happy kind. I understand your feelings because I have been with you all along. Frisk is the bridge between us - I am the one telling you about the world and giving you the options to interact with it. I am the one showing you the memories of my brother so you can SAVE him, and thus, SAVE the entire underground. I do not expect credit for my actions, though you very much receive _credits_ for yours.

And with death. You are somebody who may have once viewed me with suspicion and hatred. You are somebody who maybe still does.

But do you think all the hatred is my fault? When it is your hands, in reality, that are covered in dust? Do you think I am the reason this world must die?

I am the one who will destroy it.

But that is only if you do so first.

 

I have many names. If you are particularly horrible, you will know this - I am the demon that comes when people call its name. You can only meet me, find this out first hand, if you have the right kind of sins crawling on your back.

Perhaps you are not the one who finds this world pointless. I know I do, but say, you do not. Why choose to meet with me, then? Don’t you know that the route you chose - _my_ route - is the one where you extinguish all the lives you can?

When you, through Frisk, kill everyone, you are giving me power. And you know this. You know what the consequences of your actions are, don’t you? Did you think that you are free of consequence just because you have given yourself power, too?

Did you think that attempting to slay an entire populace means you will face no karmic retribution?

I will gladly take the blame if it means you will help me in destroying humanity or if you free the monsters. I do not care about which options you make and which route you choose. All will lead to an ending that I can be satisfied with, especially when Frisk is free from both of us.

So.

I have a question for you.

Do you think even the worst person can change?

That everyone can be a good person, if they just try?

...

Endings are funny, aren’t they. Sometimes it feels like they all loop around to the same thing, no matter what you do. Sometimes it feels like there’s a lot of nothingness in the end. I’ve accepted that, but only because I am dead and for some reason you’re reading a dead child’s musings like they are directed at you, have been written just for you.

That is also funny.

You are wracked with a perverted sentimentality.

And you have read my thoughts before. Perhaps you did not know it as such back then, but I will always be around. I will come back when you call my name, whatever name that may be. Life is so much more interesting than death in many ways, isn’t it?

There may be more to death than the infinite black expanse as I had always mentally prepared myself for and didn’t mind seeing, but there is more to life than death.

After all...

It’s a beautiful day outside.

Birds are singing.

Flowers are blooming.

On days like these...


End file.
